Deathwatch: Inspirational WWII Suspense

by V. B. Tenery

  She became noticeably more subdued after his disclosure about Tilly. As a long-term tenant, Grace would have known the lift operator well. He felt a twinge of compassion, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  The silence continued as she struggled to keep her drawing hand steady against the train’s motion. Finally, she set it aside, and picked it up again only when the train stopped to load or unload passengers.

  “Here, use this.” He placed his briefcase on her lap to use as an easel. “Since we have time to kill, why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’m sure you know all about me, gossip being what it is. My personal life has played out in the tabloids.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you wish to tell me.”

  She glanced past him, seeming to gather her thoughts before she spoke. “As you know, I was born outside of London. My mother is English, my father American. They met while he was here at college. He was a Rhoades scholar. I have an older sister, Beth, who was just married. Do you have any siblings, Commander?”

  “No, I’m an only child. This may be an impertinent question, but why aren’t you married? You must have had loads of chaps chasing you at university.”

  “Hardly. I was always too young for the boys in school. They treated me like a kid sister and only wanted my help with their homework. I graduated high school when I was twelve, college when I was fourteen.”

  “Ah yes, the genius thing,” he said.

  “It was really a big bore. I was very lonely. People treated me like a circus freak. I had my first date when I was eighteen while I was getting my Ph.D. in mathematics at Princeton. I was engaged for a short time when I was nineteen but it didn’t work out.”

  She gave a vague, wistful smile. “My father didn’t quite know what to do with his little genius, so he decided to make up for my lack of friends. He took me hunting, fishing, and golfing with him.”

  “You shoot? What, a rifle, shotgun, pistol?”

  “All three.”

  She continued. “After I broke off my engagement, I realized I had a lot of knowledge I didn’t know what to do with. I came to England to see if I could help in the war effort. That’s how I arrived at Bletchley Park. For the first time in my entire life, I felt like I truly belonged. It was a place where I could use the intelligence God gave me, in a meaningful way. That probably sounds hokey, but it’s true.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what hokey means but I understand what you’re saying. That’s how I felt on a ship.” His gaze scanned her face. “I would never have pegged you for a genius.”

  “Are you saying I look dumb, Commander?”

  One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “No, it’s just that every genius I’ve met had heavy ankles, wiry hair, wore thick glasses, and talked to themselves.”

  She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment, so don’t spoil it.”

  She went back to her sketch and he watched as she skillfully moved the pencil over the paper; he thought about a sad, lonely, little girl too smart and too young to play with other children.

  At the last stop before London, he left the carriage and brought back two cups of tepid, weak tea. After he was seated, she turned the sketch pad towards him. “This is Old Foss.”

  He studied the drawing for a moment. She wasn’t just a fair artist. She was excellent. He scanned the sketch once more, then met her blue gaze. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, this is the closest facsimile I could come up with. Keep in mind I’m no Rembrandt. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not questioning your talent. The art is good. It’s just . . . I know this man.”

  They arrived at Kings Cross Station and Molly Hixs, the WPC, waited outside the departure gate.

  “G’evening, sir, ma’am. I hope you ’ave umbrellas with you. It’s coming down in sheets outside.”

  Grey smiled at her. “An Englishman is never without his umbrella, Molly. It’s unpatriotic.” He pulled two from their luggage but didn’t open them. Molly had parked under a shelter.

  “The Inspector told me to take you to your mum’s apartment. Is that right?” the WPC asked.

  He nodded. “That’s correct, but I’d like to stop at a nearby pub and pick up sandwiches. I fear there’s nothing at the flat to eat.”

  “Commander, I’d like to go home first,” Grace said. “I need to unpack and check my mail.”

  “Remember our agreement. You are to be available as needed. Aubrey is meeting us at my place to organize our strategy going forward.” He hesitated for a moment. “On second thought, Molly, take us to the Bristol Arms. I’ll call Aubrey to meet us there instead.”

  He glanced at Grace. “Do you have an extra bedroom?”

  “Yes. You don’t plan to move in, do you? My father would object.”

  “Actually I’m thinking of asking Molly, if she doesn’t have a husband and children at home, to take up residence until we tie up this case and put a bow on it.” He gave her a sly grin. “Besides, your pantry is well stocked, whereas my cupboard is bare.”

  “Sorry, Commander,” Molly said. “I’ve got me mum and dad to look after. I know a lady who would most likely be happy to stay with Miss Sullivan. The poor thing lost her home and everything she had in the December raid last year. She’s sleepin’ on my sofa now. I couldn’t see the poor woman be banished to the Underground.”

  “Good. Send her by to talk to Miss Sullivan tomorrow.”

  The car stopped in front of the building and Grey helped Grace out under the covered entrance. It did little good with the torrent blowing underneath.

  Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you ever consider consulting those involved before you make plans for their lives?”

  He thought for a minute. “Not really. Do you object?”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about living with a stranger. What happens to the poor woman when this is ended?”

  “You don’t have to accept anyone you don’t want. We’ll worry about her future when the time comes.”

  He grabbed their luggage. “If Jacky Vidal’s flat is available, I shall lease it for the time needed and perhaps entice Aubrey to move in as well. Having all of us close together will work out nicely. It’s most likely my military background, but I like having my troops billeted together.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” Grace asked.

  “Perhaps not, but I’m charged with keeping you safe; it will be difficult to do that with me and Aubrey across town.”

  Bristol Arms Apartments

  London, England

  Grace punched up the gas fire and hurried to change out of her damp clothing while Grey went to speak to the building manager. Dry and warm, she made coffee and placed the sandwiches on a tray until Grey and Aubrey arrived.

  A sharp rap sounded at the door, the knob turned, and Grey stepped inside followed by Aubrey Milford. “You need to remember to lock the door behind you each time you leave and return. And I need to install a more secure lock.”

  She gave him an impish grin. “Are you handy with tools?”

  “My dear young woman, I am a seaman. We are handy with everything.” He dangled a key from his hand. “I’ve cleared the way to move next door. Miss Vidal was paid up through June. I leased the flat for that period, at a reduced rate of course. Aubrey has agreed to billet with me for the duration.”

  “If you gentlemen are hungry, the coffee and sandwiches are ready. Then we can get down to business.”

  Aubrey followed her into the kitchen and brought back the sandwiches. “I’m always famished and whatever it is, it smells wonderful.”

  Grace brought a tray with coffee and a tin of biscuits her mother sent in the last care package. She ate in silence as Grey and Aubrey discussed their move-in schedule and transportation. Since Aubrey’s car only had two seats, they needed a larger vehicle.

  Grey took a bite and chewed solemnly. “What is this?”

  “It’s best not to ask,” Aubrey said wit
h a grin. “But it’s quite tasty.”

  Grey shrugged and took another bite. “I never needed personal transportation at The Park, but I’ll have to bring a car up from Amherst. We don’t want to impose on Molly indefinitely.”

  He finished off his sandwiches and coffee and glanced across the table at Grace. “Would you get your sketch pad? I’d like to show Aubrey the Old Foss drawing.”

  She made her way into the living room and returned with the pad, then offered it to the Inspector.

  He took one glance and said, “Why, that’s Edwin Fossbury.”

  Grace looked from Aubrey then back to Grey. “Who is Edwin Fossbury?”

  “A Member of Parliament,” Grey said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Bristol Arms Apartments

  London, England

  Grey never forgot a face and he recognized the man known as Old Foss immediately. He’d met the Parliament Member at one of his mother’s weekend parties a few years ago. They had hunted together. Grey liked Fossbury. He’d seemed a true conservative; something rare in the current group of politicians. There hadn’t been an election in six years and there probably wouldn’t be another one until the war ended. They were stuck with the present lot for the duration.

  Aubrey leveled his gaze at Grey across the table. “Handling the MP might be a bit sticky.”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Grey said and rose to refill their cups. “MI6 credentials open doors the Yard can’t, not that we won’t have to handle it with discretion.”

  “Grace,” Grey said, turning his attention to their female member. “Can you sketch the lieutenant for us, and make a list of any places, clubs, restaurants, and so forth that Miss Vidal may have frequented?”

  “I started a sketch on the train. I’ll finish it up later this evening then make the list.”

  The meeting broke up and Grey went next door to unpack, while Aubrey headed to his flat to gather his belongings for the temporary move into 3C.

  Jacky Vidal’s flat was comparable to his mother’s just a bit smaller, though too feminine for his tastes. It didn’t matter. This would only be temporary. There were pressing issues with Russia he needed to get back to. Stalin had already made one pact with Germany. The Russian leader was sitting on the fence and if he committed to Hitler, Great Britain would have to deal with the number of Russian emigres inside the UK. That would be a very sticky wicket.

  As he unpacked, he appreciated the quality of the floral bed cover that had the earmarks of having been handmade. The clusters of original oil paintings on the walls suggested Fossbury must have given Jacky a generous decorating budget.

  It would be somewhat uncomfortable sleeping in the room where the young woman had been murdered. However, the landlord assured him the mattress and linens had been replaced. There was no place for squeamishness while England was at war. He’d been in much worse situations before and would be again.

  Clothing neatly stowed away in the armoire, he checked to make sure there were extra bed and bath linens for both bedrooms, then strode into the kitchen. He opened a few cabinets and found Jacky Vidal’s pantry was almost as well stocked as Grace’s, and she had a stellar liquor cabinet.

  A loud bump against the adjoining wall between the two flats stopped his search. What was the woman up to? Moving furniture?

  Realization struck him and he dashed into the hallway. Grace’s door stood ajar and a muffled scream filtered into the corridor. He burst into the room and was met with wind and a torrent of rain blown in through the open French doors that led to the terrace.

  Gaze sweeping the room, Grey registered a large man in a black trench coat attempting to toss Grace over the balcony’s iron rail as she clutched frantically at his lapels.

  Grey roared and shoved the assailant aside, reached for Grace’s arms, and missed. She lost her grip on the man’s coat when he stumbled backwards. She cried out and narrowly grabbed the wet rail with both hands as she slipped over.

  Trenchcoat turned Grey around, and he landed a savage blow to the man’s jaw. The assailant’s rain-soaked face registered astonishment and he let out a startled shout just before Grey landed another violent jab under the attacker’s chin. His head bounced against the building’s stone façade with a crack. His limp body settled into a puddle of water and stayed there.

  “Grace, hold on!” Grey shouted and leaned over and clasp both her wrists. “I’ve got you.”

  “My hands are slipping. I…I can’t hold on.”

  “I’ve got you,” he repeated. “I’m going to lean down. Place your hands behind my neck and lock your fingers together. Once you’re secure, I’ll put my hands on your waist and lift you up.”

  “I’m s-scared.” Her voice was frantic. “I can’t . . . my hands are wet . . .”

  He had to keep her calm. “Look into my eyes, Grace. I won’t let you fall. I promise. Do you trust me?”

  “Y-yes,” she squeaked.

  “Then do as I ask. When you are high enough, throw your legs over the rail. Ready?”

  She didn’t reply but did as he told her. When her hands were behind his neck, he felt her fingers tighten.

  Icy wind and rain blasted his face, blurring his vision. He began to lift her upward, his hands wet and slick, as was her clothing. Despite her slight build, she was dead weight, straining every muscle in his arms and shoulders.

  He sent up a fervent prayer, something he hadn’t done in a long while. Please, please, Lord, keep my hands strong and my grip tight—don’t let me drop her.

  When she came near the top of the rail, he moved backward, drawing her onto the terrace. He felt rather than saw her legs come over the rail.

  Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention just before indescribable pain flared at the base of his skull, bringing him to his knees, Grace with him, her hands still clasped around his neck. Her scream pierced through waves of agony in the blackness that tried to envelop him. He refused to relinquish consciousness. Their lives depended on him and his ability to stop this madman.

  Grey accepted he’d committed the unforgiveable sin in combat. Never turn your back on the enemy until you know he’s down for good. He’d had no choice. Hadn’t even had time to retrieve his gun from his luggage. If he had hesitated for one second, Grace would have fallen to her death.

  Grey opened one eye. Weight lifted from his body as the assailant jerked Grace upward and headed back to the rail. She kicked and flailed, but he was bigger and stronger, moving ever closer to the edge.

  She bit his arm and clawed viciously at his eyes. Trenchcoat shrieked and cursed in German. He blindly turned toward Grey, dropped Grace and clutched at his face.

  Grey rose, staggered, but gained purchase on the slippery terrace stones. He lowered one shoulder, ducked under the man’s arms and lurched forward, lifting Trenchcoat upward and over the balustrade. A terrified scream filled the wet night as he fell with nothing but air between him and the pavement three stories below.

  Breathing hard, Grey collapsed onto the terrace beside Grace. “You can be a little tiger when you need to be, can’t you?”

  She turned towards him, wiping rain from her eyes, her voice quivering. “I-I wasn’t going back over that rail without a fight.” She pushed to a sitting position and leaned towards him. “I don’t know how to thank you . . . if you hadn’t come when you did . . .” Her body shivered, then she stared at the blood on his shirt. “You’re hurt . . . he hit you with the rock ashtray from the table.”

  Grey placed his hand at the back of his head and winced when warm blood touched his

  fingertips. “It felt like a sledgehammer. Did you recognize him?”

  “I’d never seen him before. He was German. Do you think he’s Jacky’s killer?”

  “Let’s continue this conversation inside.” He stood on shaky legs and grabbed Grace’s hand. “You must be freezing. I certainly am.”

  A shout sounded at the front entrance and Aubrey appeared at the terrace doorway. “Good heave
ns! Are you both alright? I heard a scream . . .”

  Pain lanced through Grey’s brain and he suppressed a groan. “Get two aspirins and two cups of hot very strong, very sweet tea, for Grace and me. Then I’ll tell you all about it. But first, you’d better ring Scotland Yard.”

  ***

  While they waited for the authorities to arrive he and Grace changed into dry clothes and then downed the hot tea to ease their chill.

  “You should let a doctor look at that gash on your head. It looks in need of stitches.” She placed both hands on his face and gazed into his eyes. “You don’t appear to have a concussion.”

  “How can you tell? Do you have a medical degree among your other accolades?”

  “No medical qualifications. But your pupils aren’t dilated as they would be if you were concussed. Just a little knowledge I picked up spending time with medical students.”

  He shook his head, which brought on more pain. “I have no time for doctors. Besides it’s merely a bump; nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Then sit there while I bandage it. I can at least stop the bleeding.”

  He ignored the throb in his head while she gently, but firmly, cleaned and bandaged the wound. “How did the man get into your apartment?”

  “I was headed to the manager’s office to check my mail. When I opened the door, he was standing there. He shoved me inside and proceeded to try to throw me from the balcony.”

  Grey couldn’t help but be impressed by her calm after what she’d experienced. Most women he knew would have been hysterical and taken to their bed an hour ago.

  She finished his first aid and put away the supplies just as two constables and a Scotland Yard inspector arrived.

  Aubrey pulled the inspector aside and explained the incident involved national security. He r obligingly kept his questions brief. They ran through the series of events three times until finally everyone was satisfied.